


The Past Still Haunts Us

by Renai_chan



Series: Skeletons [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-22
Updated: 2012-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-31 14:17:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renai_chan/pseuds/Renai_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most breakups don’t end well, but some are worse than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Past Still Haunts Us

**Author's Note:**

> based on this kink meme: http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/3266.html?thread=1931202#t1931202
> 
>  
> 
> _Clint's ex comes to the mansion. As soon as Coulson spots them, he points a gun to their heads. Clint freaks the fuck out while the ex is there, Coulson throws them out and then cuddles, pets and kisses Clint to comfort him, while the Avengers hover like mother hens._
> 
>  
> 
> My first Coulson/Clint fic. Please be kind ^^ Not as much Coulson/Clint as I would have liked, but I think I’m happy with it. Not exactly what the prompter wanted because I think I’m incapable of writing smooshy stuff and too capable of writing porn. Happy ending though, because I’m incapable of writing severe angst.
> 
> Mentions of abuse, attempted rape, woobie-ish!Clint (if that isn’t your thing, then it’s a warning I suppose)

“Dear Lord. Is that Clint Barton?”

 

The question came from behind them just as they were exiting Meeting Room 3 after the mission debriefing, and Clint’s demeanor almost automatically transformed from bored disinterest (after all, it was a _boring_ mission and a _boring_ debrief even if it _was_ Phil doing the debriefing) to cocksure attention the way it usually did when new SHIELD recruits would look at him and whisper about him in awe. After all, among a team of super humans, super geniuses and super spies, it _was_ nice to be noticed once in a while.

 

“Why, yes. Yes, it is,” he answered as he turned to see who the asker was.

 

And then he froze.

 

Beside Nick Fury stood a man, slightly shorter than Steve, as impeccably dressed as Phil, and with a smirk as telling as Tony’s.

 

Clint would recognize him anywhere.

 

“Team,” Nick started, drawing the Avengers’ attention to himself. “I’d like to introduce Maximillian Smith from the CIA.”

 

“’Max,’ please, colonel,” Maximillian cut in smoothly, his eyes still trained on Clint’s. Nick’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

 

“He’ll be here for the next few weeks on CIA business, observing your team, Captain Rogers,” the director said. “He’s asked to be provided lodgings at the mansion for… a more detailed and accurate assessment.” Nick’s face showed what he thought of _that_. “I expect that you welcome him with due hospitality.” Steve nodded firmly, one step short of saluting, but hesitance could be seen in his eyes because what would the CIA want with the Avengers? “Agent Coulson will be in charge of assisting Mr. Smith for the duration of his stay. You are dismissed.” Nick was never one for long talks.

 

As he strode away though, Max dawdled behind, still smiling pleasantly at Clint, who had yet to move, and ignoring the rest of the Avengers who were watching him warily.

 

“Clint,” he started, his voice smooth and deep. “It’s been a while.” Clint swallowed visibly and nodded.

 

“It has,” he agreed and tensed as Max stepped forward.

 

“Almost five years,” he absently noted, eyes roving. “And you haven’t changed a bit.”

 

“Well, I’d like to think I’m older… wiser,” Clint returned, trying to regain his attitude that Phil, Nick and, really, every one of his supervisors complained about, but Max only smiled.

 

“Yes. Wiser…” he agreed and then a tense silence descended over them which Tony decided was too awkward and needed to be broken.

 

“Come on, Barton,” he said, hesitant in a way that was rather unbecoming. “I have a couple of things I need you to try out at the lab.” Clint swallowed once more then nodded, wrenching his eyes away from a still-smiling Max and walking down the hallway with his teammates, determinedly _not looking back_.

 

… … … … …

 

“Clint.”

 

Clint needn’t have turned around to know it was Phil. There was nowhere he could go where the other wouldn’t be able to find him, not even on top of SHIELD tower’s antennae on the roof, some five hundred feet in the air. He turned to see the older man climbing onto the platform, his hair and clothes being tossed by the wind, and then turned back to his arrows, sorting and counting and cleaning and aiming then keeping them away, only to repeat the process again. Phil took a seat beside him, staring out at the New York skyline. He said nothing, but Clint heard the unasked question anyway.

 

“We… dated,” he said shortly. “Fucked” would probably have been more accurate. “But you already knew that.” Phil shrugged. There really was no use denying it. “You want to know why I acted like a deer caught in headlights when I saw—no, wait,” Clint turned to him. “You already know why, but you want to hear it from me because you’re too polite to say you’ve been snooping around.” Again, Phil said nothing, but Clint sighed anyway. He wasn’t surprised, not really. He would have been more surprised if Phil _hadn’t_ known; thus was the hazards of dating super spies. He put his arrows away and lay back onto the platform, his hands tucked behind his head. “It’s not something I want to talk about. It’s in the past and I’d prefer it to stay there.”

 

And then Phil was on top of him, and they were kissing, and Clint’s hands were in Phil’s hair while the other pulled him closer by the back of his neck. Clint made a soft keening sound as Phil ground himself against the other while his lips strayed from Clint’s and found his neck. Clint murmured and moaned as Phil licked and sucked the exposed flesh above his collar and then Phil reached for his pocket and sat up, and Clint realized he was holding his handkerchief aloft.

 

“What—why are you—?” he managed to vocalize until Phil stroked one of his cheeks with the cloth, and he realized that he was crying. “I—“ he started but Phil cut him off with another kiss to his mouth as the handkerchief stroked his other cheek. “Phil—“ he tried again when his boyfriend pulled away.

 

“Shh,” Phil murmured, putting the handkerchief away and stroking Clint’s cheek with his fingertips. “I can’t do anything about him being here; I checked out the order, and it was legitimate, but this is not five years ago. You aren’t the same person you were then. You’re an Avenger now,” he murmured. “You’re Clint Barton.” A kiss. “You’re mine.”

 

… … … … …

 

Clint went out of his way to avoid all common areas as much as humanly possible. Where he would usually spend lazy afternoons abusing the Wii, he now spent them holed up in his and Phil’s room, reading one of Phil’s multitudes of books. Where he would usually scarf down snacks and meals every few hours, he now chose to live off the tap water in the en suite bathroom should no one accompany him to the kitchen. Where he would usually abuse the gym equipment, he now spent “meditating” in the bedroom.

 

In helped that his teammates, whose nosiness he usually abhorred, knew about his and Max’s past, even if not the grisly truth about it, and did him favors by bringing up meals, updating him as necessary and Tony even brought in some training equipment in the adjacent bedroom for his use.

 

Max was unavoidable during missions, but thankfully, Clint was too preoccupied to care. Debriefing, however, was unbearable. He looked everywhere, mostly at Phil, but at Max, but he could feel the stare on the back of his neck, could imagine his breath causing goosebumps to mar his flesh, could _feel_ the fingertips skate over his skin. Natasha would purposely put herself between Max and Clint every time, and Clint could see the annoyed frown that crossed his features.

 

For two weeks, Clint managed to avoid him.

 

Until Max decided to purposely seek him out.

 

It was carefully planned; Max knew them well enough by now to know when they would be out of the way. Phil was back at SHIELD. Natasha was on her own mission. Tony was in the lab and wouldn’t be out for _hours_ because Steve was away and wouldn’t be back for a few more hours to drag Tony back to the living world. Bruce was with Betty, Thor with Jane, and Clint was in the bathroom, stepping out of the shower when a gun was pressed to his cheek.

 

It took him a split second to realize who it was and when he did, his eyes grew wide. Max pushed him back until he was pressed against a wall, held there by the gun.

 

“I was willing to give you a second chance, you know,” Max murmured, almost sweetly. “I was willing to take you back if you had just told me how sorry you were for everything you did back then.” Clint was too stunned to point out that it was Max who should be apologizing, who should be on his knees, groveling for Clint’s forgiveness. “Until I learned that you’ve been whoring yourself out to that agent.” Clint almost punched him for even _thinking_ about Phil and him, but Max, sensing Clint’s movement, pressed the gun harder into his cheek. “But I’m still willing to forgive you, baby, because I love you, you know? After all this time, I still love you,” he cooed and squeezed Clint’s shoulder and pushing him down, forcing him to his knees. Clint had no choice but to obey because he may be one of the best agents in SHIELD but he had a _gun_ pressed to his _face_. “God, I missed you. I missed this,” Max said, stroking Clint’s cheek. “Tell me you missed me, too,” he said, but Clint said nothing and Max frowned, his hand sliding into Clint’s hair and jerking it back, “Tell me!”

 

“Go fuck yourself, Smith,” the archer answered snidely. “I don’t miss this and I certainly don’t miss you, you bastard. I left for a _reason_. I left because you treated me like shit. Because—“ He failed to finish because he was backhanded across the cheek with the butt of the gun, before he fell to the floor, Max jerked him back up by his hair and thrust the gun barrel into his mouth. Clint’s eyes widened in horror and Max only smiled.

 

“You used to love this. You have such a fetish for guns, don’t you? Probably why you’re such a good sniper,” he said, ignoring Clint’s almost-tirade. He pushed the gun further in, sliding it against Clint’s tongue, reminding the sniper how much he hated Max. He hated this, he hated the taste of the metal, the weight of the gun on his tongue, the knowledge that a finger twitch could blow his brains out. He never told Max how much he hated this because Max loved it, loved having Clint under his power, at the other end of the barrel. He’d fuck Clint’s mouth with his Beretta 92 while making Clint jerk himself off and then he’d fuck him hard and rough. At one point, Clint was sure he’d thought of fucking _him_ with the gun because he had Clint on his knees and his ass in the air and he stroked Clint’s hole with the muzzle, and Clint, in a panic, turned on his charm full force and dodged the bullet (no pun intended).

 

Max shoved the gun further in Clint’s mouth, stroking the back of his neck with his other hand, moaning and murmuring in appreciation, encouraging him to “suck” and “touch yourself. You want to, and I won’t stop you.” When Clint failed to comply, Max followed him down onto the floor and pressed his own hand against his cock. “Go on, Clint, jerk yourself off.” And Clint squeezed his eyes shut and did so because it wasn’t wise to disobey someone who could kill you in less than a second. “Yes, fuck, yes,” Max moaned. “Look at you. Yes…”

 

Clint stroked himself but barely mustered the pleasure to get himself hard. He stroked himself for what seemed like hours until Max decided that it was enough, that he wouldn’t get the pleasure of seeing Clint come. “On your hands and knees,” he ordered instead, pulling the gun out and pressing it against Clint’s temple. “Go on.” And really, there was no choice. None of the bathrooms had security cameras, for ethical reasons of course. Clint couldn’t reach the distress signal on his uniform in the bedroom, and he couldn’t alert JARVIS else Max might hear. There was nothing within reach he could use as a weapon. His only course of action really was to gamble on hand-to-hand combat, but Max wasn’t a pushover; he had been with the CIA as long as Clint had been with SHIELD—possibly longer and he was much bigger.

 

 _The gun… I only need to get the gun away…_ he thought. Max was grinning gleefully, confidently—overconfidently. Clint clenched one fist and started to bend to obey his command. In a split second, he crouched faster than Max could follow with the gun and rolled, kicking the gun out of Max’s hand. It flew and skittered a few feet away. Max yelped when Clint’s foot hit his hand, but he was ignored as Clint screamed “JARVIS! GET TONY!” Max howled in anger and pounced on the smaller man, pinning him in place and landing several punches on his jaw.

 

Clint saw stars and Max used that opportunity to flip the archer over and pin both wrists between his shoulder blades. The damage was done though; Tony was alerted and it wouldn’t take him a few more minutes to come up. Clint gritted his teeth as fingers penetrated him. Max was crazed; he had to be to care more about fucking Clint than creating an alibi. The fingers were rough, painful, and Clint cried out and struggled against the man above him.

 

“Hold. Still. You stupid. Bitch!” Max swore, tightening his grip and pulling out his cock. Clint yelped as his arms were twisted further than they were usually capable. He felt the cock brush his ass.

 

And then there were gunshots.

 

The man above him stilled, and Clint felt as he fell away. The archer didn’t wait and scrambled to his feet, behind Phil as the older man stepped closer, stepped in front of Clint, shielding him from the writhing man on the ground. He stepped closer, leaving Clint by the doorway, to tower over the CIA agent. Blood poured from both of his shoulders onto the marble floor beneath him, and Phil paused momentarily then suddenly dropped to his knees to rain punches down on Max’s face.

 

Clint couldn’t move. He had never seen Phil—Phil who was always, _always_ calm, collected, cool, passive—in a storm of rage. It was only when Tony dragged the man off Max did he realize that he should have done that in the first place. Phil managed to get one last kick in before Tony shoved him back and out the door, where Clint followed.

 

“JARVIS, security lock until authorities arrive,” Tony said and sat Clint down on the bed, grabbing a robe off the nearby armchair and wrapping it around him. “I’m sorry,” he said and Clint looked at him like he was mad.

 

“What for?” he asked in incredulity.

 

“I should’ve been more attentive. I should’ve been watching. I knew everyone was out. I just thought he was too.”

 

“Damn straight, Stark,” Phil bit out, rubbing his bloody hands on a handkerchief before stalking over to pull Clint onto his lap.

 

“Shut it, Phil,” Clint admonished, but he melted into his boyfriend’s arms, clutching at the shirt and tie with one hand. “Tony’s not my babysitter. None of them are. It wasn’t his fault nor was it his responsibility.” Phil kissed the top of his head, but glared at Tony anyway. It was strange to see Tony fidget and look guilty, but Clint couldn’t savor the moment. “What are you doing here anyway? You weren’t supposed to come back for another few hours.” Phil stroked his cheek and kissed him again, pulling him closer against him.

 

“I bugged him. It took me too long to get here. I’m sorry,” he whispered. Clint snorted. It would have taken Phil longer in any normal circumstance. His ability to get here from SHIELD exceeded expectation and logic. But Phil could do things most other humans couldn’t, so it wasn’t surprising really. And him holding him like this was especially nice, considering they had an audience in Tony and Phil usually detested public displays of affection.

 

Phil stroked his cheek and kissed him and murmured in his ear things that Tony couldn’t hear, and Clint sighed and pressed his face against Phil’s neck and choked back a sob. Well, tried to really. Tony quietly excused himself as Phil kissed his forehead, his cheeks, his eyes, his mouth, and Clint was silently grateful that Tony left because he knew he wouldn’t ever hear the end of it if Tony witnessed him sobbing like a _girl_ (Tony wouldn’t of course. Not now, not during these circumstances).

 

“Shh,” Phil murmured. “I’m going to get him sent to fucking jail in India. He’ll never be allowed back on American soil. He’ll never touch you again, never see you.” Clint clutched at him harder, muffling his sobs against Phil’s neck.

 

… … … … …

 

In the end, it was Nick who got Max sent to prison in India, pulling several strings to get his way.

 

Tony managed to hack into databases and made sure Max would stay there for a very, _very_ long time.

 

Natasha went away on ‘personal’ business and came back with presents from South Asia, most of which were clothes and food and spices and something she secretly handed to Phil and earned her a Nod of Approval.

 

Bruce and Thor went out of their way to make Clint’s life easier, funner and more interesting, and while it was nice for a few days, Clint eventually told them to stop trying too hard and he liked things the way they were before, so Bruce went back to being Bruce and Thor went back to being Thor.

 

He couldn’t explain really what Steve had done or how he had changed, but he was a little bit morose after the whole debacle and only when Natasha had come back from her ‘vacation’ did he return to his usual adorkable self.

 

And Phil.

 

Well, if there’s one good thing that came out of all this, it was that Phil held his hand a lot more often now. And yes, even in front of everyone else.

 

… … … … …

_Reviews are loved!~_


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